


Drawn Path

by Duskynoir



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 20:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3950176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duskynoir/pseuds/Duskynoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hunter is having difficulties in his time within Yharnam and the Hunter's Dream. Not from the physically demanding acts he preforms, nor from the deaths. But from the mental issues that arise from liking something that may not even be real.</p><p>Hunter & Plain Doll fluff. Light spoilers for mid-game content and obvious canon divergence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drawn Path

**Author's Note:**

> Hunter & Plain Doll dynamics give me life in a game that hasn't put me down as much as The Last of Us, but it came pretty close (Gascoigne, Viola, their daughter, insert crying. Even Arianna because oh man). I love the lore of this new universe and I love how badass Hunter is but I still long for more interaction with Plain Doll. How she claps and bows at gestures is just really precious.
> 
> Insert this, the second idea I had between the two. Most of what I see Hunter doing is mostly being a badass but I do have this idea that he is still bloody human in some aspects. I subscribe to the theory he had Paleblood, got a transfusion to cure it (and rejected the beast to get accepted by the messengers) and ended up in the Dream but he still retains some of his humanity - as interacting with NPCs can show. He's not an outright mumbling scaredy of intimate interactions but at the same time he can't be a badass in all aspects of his life. He has to fail at something (other than bad timing). So, yeah. 
> 
> Really, all of this my interpretations. You can take it as you will. But until more is revealed (a DLC would be nice), have flustered Hunter and a quiet Plain Doll.

He finished off the final Shadow of Yharnam with one heavy striking blow, his limbs aching after he had as the damn thing exploded into a fine mist. Too long he had been fighting it and he injected himself with a blood vial, thankful it was just bloody well over.

He had been going strong for a while, not coming back to his refuge until he was finished with the Forbidden Woods. After all, he was a believer in seeing things through to the end, resting when only necessary. Which may not have been all that intelligent but it suited him well in this world. The goal at the end was made all the more satisfying when it was done. But he had other reasons as well.

As he came back to the Refuge, a scent of flowers in the air, his eyes immediately went up the stairs to where she stood ever so vigilant, her white hair softly moving in the wind. The Doll. His hands flexed, his chest rose and he stared at her. She was the issue. The one that made him press on hard without relief, his clothes and sword always drenched in blood by the end.

With everything he kept going through - the beasts, the mockery, the death of lives he could have saved - she was a constant for him. She never was unhappy when he drew near, nor was she afraid of him or ill-mannered. She tilted her head in that same way, bowed to him when he did to her and her hands would always extend for his.

“Good Hunter,” she would praise. “Let me take your burdens.”

And he gladly would let her. After all, he had no need for echoes and the strength she gave him was much more worthwhile. However, on this return, he found himself a bit hesitant to give his hand. Not because he was wary of her once again or because she had done anything wrong. It was more about himself. His utter relief in seeing her was the problem. He was becoming distracted over a being that wasn’t even real. 

The reason he had come to Yharnam was to seek his cure and instead found himself as a Hunter before the beast took him. The point should be that he had a job to do and he should be focused entirely on it now that he was given a chance. Not… Well. Not get constantly distracted with ludicrous things.

He went to the Bath Messenger instead of to her waiting hands, the odd little creature perking up when he drew near. He stared at it as it came to the edge, waiting almost eagerly for instruction.

“I wish to purchase some things,” he told it and it scrambled to grab the list it usually held, bringing it to him to read. He unrolled the parchment, ticking off what he wanted and he gave it back, another messenger arising from the water to look. They both disappeared and came back with clothes and Blood Vials, several more emerging behind the seller to glimpse at him. He ignored it. The Doll had called them sweet but he still found them all rather odd. Though really, it wasn’t their faults. He was still just a bit traumatized over the entire ordeal in Iosefka’s Clinic before he was named a Hunter.

When he was finished with them he went into his home, pushing stacks of books that had fallen over back up and organizing his storage. Gehrman wasn’t around which he found odd but then again it was nice being alone instead of having the old man stare at him and mumble about chalices and purpose. Or the Doll. 

Regardless, his weapon needed to be upgraded and he drew out some new clothes to wear, his Black Church Set a bit torn now. He had picked up some odd robes in the Forbidden Woods, the hood not interesting him much as it looked completely silly but he still mixed it with his Yharnam clothes, putting on his hat as the substitution for the hood.

Still, though he was taking his time and trying to focus, his thoughts went to the Doll who was still waiting by the stones. She was there to help him and that was all yet he couldn’t help but feel something more for her. It was incredibly wrong to do so, he damn well knew, and he never intended to take Gehrman up on his offer that he could use her as he seen pleased but he was starting to feel the effects of wanting to do so. After all, she did seem pleased to see him unlike when he walked into the Odeon Chapel.

How many times he could tolerate being spit on by the cranky old bat or have the prostitute beckon him only to just tease him? It was getting annoying. He wanted something sane, comforting, and warm and - almost hilariously - the Doll was the only one who fit the list. He didn’t want her like Gehrman told him but he wanted her in a different way. Gascoigne had a family in Yharnam. What say he couldn’t as well? …Despite the fact she was a doll and nothing more.

Slowly he walked to the entrance of his home, looking down to where she was, the tassles on her shawl swaying in the wind. He rubbed his face, embarrassed and angry for himself and his stupid thoughts when one of the stacks of books he had put up collapsed and he jumped, his weapon being drawn immediately. When he realized what it was he flushed and snapped his axe back into its short form, clipping it into place once more.

“Good Hunter?” the Doll said from below and he stiffened. “Are you alright?”

He went red. Again, with all the torture he kept going through in the Hunt, having someone want to know and care about him made him feel odd. He looked at her from over his shoulder, not meaning to glare but he did and she did not flinch or get angry. He took off his hat to run his hand through his dark hair before he shook his problems off.

Get it together, he told himself quietly.

He went to her at last and thrust out his hand. “I have Blood Echoes,” he mumbled. Her pale eyes went down and she reached up, gently taking his hand in her cold, disjointed ones.

“Very well, Good Hunter,” she said. “I will ease your spirit.”

And she did. She always did. As the Echoes drained from him and he was given Endurance and Skill he couldn’t help but flush, pulling back immediately when she was done. She stood, her hands folding neatly once more as her eyes went to his and she gave him that soft smile.

“Good hunting, dear Hunter,” she said in her gentle, melodious voice and he couldn’t help but flush deeper. “May you find your worth in the waking world.”

He left immediately, not wanting to linger too long lest he never return to the dark world of beasts he belonged in. He had a job, he reminded himself. He had a damn job to do.

 

—

 

So, he had gotten sidetracked. He had intended to keep moving forward but when a flying insect came at him with the body of a human, he abandoned it. Not because he was scared but more because he was disgusted. Insects were, to put it plainly, gross. He could rip the stomachs out of beasts, cut off their heads, brutalize them until they rushed away from him screaming but insects made his skin crawl. He instead went back, clearing out what areas he could before his head began to sway.

His Insight was growing too much and he was beginning to see nightmares everywhere. What once didn’t bother him now made him flinch and he slaughtered as much as he could before he retreated back to his Refuge, gritting his teeth as he did. He needed to spend some of the Insight he got before it really damaged him mentally but when he looked up he noticed something wrong.

The Doll was gone.

To say that he was calm would be a lie. Though he did not show it, panic immediately flooded his veins and he pulled out his weapon to be at the ready in case something had penetrated where he considered safe to torture him. Was it that doctor? Eileen? That damn thing that was revealed with the tonsil stone?

He quickly went into his home, Gehrman still gone which he didn’t mind and he was about to go on a near rampage to find her when something stood near the back doors which made him flinch.

It was her.

“Greetings, dear Hunter,” she said, her pale eyes meeting his. “You are back so soon.”

He said nothing. He tried not to scowl but his expression couldn’t lie and he found himself glaring at her as he snapped his weapon back in place. She did not flinch or become angry. She only tilted her head making him sigh.

“How come you’re here?” he asked. She blinked slowly before her body turned and she looked to the grave he had never paid attention to, staring at it for a moment almost sadly.

“I am praying,” she said. “To a Hunter.”

He frowned. He did recall when he spoke to Eileen for a moment that she too had mentioned the Doll but he wasn’t sure on what to make of that. Though he was aware he was not the first Hunter of Yharnam, nor would he be the last, he found it odd that the Doll seemed to be sad in reminiscing about past ones. He assumed she wouldn’t know of them since he found her lifeless on his first hours in the dream but it was becoming clear she had more thoughts and emotions than he realized.

He brushed his gear, looking to her and she continued to stare at the grave until he stepped towards her.

“I have Blood Echoes.”

Her attention went fully to him and she slowly blinked before nodding, her lids falling down slightly.

“I will take them, Good Hunter,” she said, clasping his hand to do so and she knelt before him. He watched the exchange, new skills being imbued with the others and when they were done there was a flash as the connection broke. She stood and her hands came forward and he flexed his own, feeling the new strength.

“Good hunting to you, dear Hunter,” she said and he flushed a bit at her kindness. “May you continue to be victorious.”

He finally faced her at her words despite his cheeks turning red and his heartbeat becoming more rapid.

“Doll,” he said before he paused. He actually wasn’t sure what to call her but she seemed to respond to just that and her eyes met his as she tilted her head. He sighed, continuing. “Let me walk you back.”

She made a confused expression and he reached up to rub at the bridge of his nose for a second. He should be more clear.

“Walk you back to where you usually are,” he said. “Over there.”

She said nothing, her eyes set on him before she turned to look where he meant. Slowly a small smile came on her lips and she faced him one more.

“You do not have to, good Hunter.”

“I want to,” he blurted out, turning red and she tilted her head again in confusion but she accepted which flooded him with relief. She moved, standing by his side, her height making him frown as she was rather tall but he ignored it and began walking. She fell in tandem with him, her strides just like his and he led her past the rows of tombstones.

The Bath Messengers moved, several coming up to watch them and he turned red, glaring at them. They all seemed enthralled to watch them walk and he sighed in embarrassment. She let out a giggle that made him look to her. She wasn’t paying attention to him, however, her eyes on the messengers who were watching.

“So sweet,” she commented. He said nothing. Instead he walked her back and she moved to her spot, standing still like she always did. The world seemed better with her there and he relaxed. “Thank you, kind Hunter.”

He bowed to her out of habit making her curtsy back before he went to his workshop, pressing a hand against his forehead in utter embarrassment before he worked. He was getting distracted and it needed to stop.

He left through the tombstones, not saying a farewell as he did. He needed to get to work and find out the mysteries of the area beyond the Forbidden Woods. That was where his focus should have been, not on the Doll who made his heart rapidly beat.

 

—

 

He lost. Well, to be more accurate, he died and he found himself waking on the stones of his Refuge. That damn spider thing was rough. Not because it was hard but the stupid offspring it gave made him irritated beyond belief. It actually pissed him off, the thing did, and he got up with determination to smash the bastard to pieces when he noticed the Doll was watching him with a rather sad gaze.

He stood, wiping himself off and he walked to go up to his home but her voice made him stop.

“Dear Hunter, are you alright?” she asked, her head tilting. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he said. He was, save for his pride and what felt like a good chunk of his Blood Echoes. “Don’t worry.”

Her expression didn’t change and he tried to ignore it but it did bother him as he worked. When he was ready and he descended the stairs, looking for the right tombstone, her voice caught him again.

“Be successful, dear Hunter,” she said in a sincere voice. “We are all here for you.”

He went red and he pulled his scarf up his face more to hide the fact. He disappeared into the tombstone without saying a word.

 

—

 

He did achieve success but it took a long time for him to do so and every Blood Vial he had was used. He wasn’t sure if his victory was even right as the vision he saw of a red moon coming down made him worried and more paranoid than he liked. The white woman that had stood with him unnerved him even more. Something was wrong with the night and he knew by the end he would have to deal with it.

He returned to his refuge to find the Doll waiting, her eyes lighting up when she saw him.

“You were successful?” she asked as he walked towards his, his Blood Echoes having been taken back.

“I was,” he said in a quiet voice as he held out his hand. She took it, kneeling and he was given Endurance and Arcane, the Echoes draining from him from the exchange. When they parted, she moved which made him pause. Usually she stood and did nothing more after that save for comforting him with a farewell that he be victorious but this time she brought something out.

She held out a flower to him and he stared at it.

“For you, dear Hunter,” she said in a soft voice. “From us.”

“From us?”

“Your messengers and myself,” she replied, holding out the flower more until he took it. It was just a simple flower pulled from one of the bushes but somehow the thought of her picking it just for him made it immensely special. He held it delicately, staring at the fragile petals and she went back to her usual stance, her hands folding gently as she did. “May you continue to be victorious, dear Hunter.”

He looked at her. Really looked at her. Despite the fact she was a doll, despite the fact he was still unsure on what in the fifteen hells she was, the little act of kindness got to him. She had taken the time to try and cheer him up and give him a gift and he found himself wanting to do something for her. He just couldn’t figure out what since most of his thoughts went to embracing her which was something he restrained himself from doing.

Instead, he dug through his pockets. He really didn’t have anything of interest. She didn’t need blood vials, molotovs, elixars, coldblood dew, or keys. Neither did she probably want pebbles, antidotes, blood stone shards or… he paused. He began pulling out a richly embroidered cloth, something he recalled he got from the Bath Messenger when he was beginning to find his footing in the world. He had used it to open a gate - which one he could scarcely remember now - and he looked it over before his eyes went to her.

She stood quietly, her pale eyes watching him, not a look of anger, greed, or disinterest in them. She was staring at him like a mother would to a child. Or, what he preferred, an affectionate girl would to her courter. There was warmth he felt and his cheeks grew hot once again. The wind rustled her hair, her dress slightly swayed from the breeze and he frowned deeply before he looked at the cloth in his hand.

He finally relented. “Here.”

Her eyes drew down and she stared at the cloth, her head tilting.

“It’s for you.”

Her brows fixed together in confusion. “Dear Hunter?” she said. “I do not require anything. I am here for you in this dream-”

“It’s a gift,” he cut her off before he lost his nerve and went back to stomping around Yharnam. She paused, not moving, and he began to waver as he continued to hold the emblem out for her but she finally reached forward. She gently drew the cloth from his hand, bringing it up to herself and her odd fingers ran over it.

“A gift…” she repeated. “For me.”

He lost his nerve and fled, disappearing into the tombstones and taking the wrong path as he did. It didn’t matter. He was flustered enough. And as he hacked down the monsters that lived in the Cathedral Ward - which wasn’t where he wanted to be - he cursed himself over and over. He should have just left well enough alone instead of making an ass out of himself.

But the flower she had given him was tucked away in his pocket until he could find some water. Once he did, he tried to save it, watching the petals float on top, the sweet scent still lingering. He sighed, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. He was a Hunter. He should not be getting distracted. But when a damn Church Servant came at him and nearly crushed his flower he slaughtered it worse than he usually did, ripping the bastard in two.

Despite it, he was given the flower as a gift. And he damn well wasn’t going to let it get ruined in Yharnam.

 

—

 

He was returned to the Refuge after a particularly stupid death. He was trying to continue on to wherever lay beyond the doors he could not open before. Yahar’gul, or something. It was a place that unnerved him deeply but he suspected it was moreso because he could hear a baby crying and not because of the beasts. He managed to kill a bell-ringing beast, one which he suspected kept making the afflicted come back but he got careless. He passed by some caskets which he had done so numerous times before and one of them was occupied by some sort of ghoul he had never seen.

He flinched. It got him. And he woke up in the Refuge, glaring at the stones as he did. Damned beasts. He really hated it when they did this and took a portion of his Blood Echoes. But as he stood his eyes naturally went to the doll and he froze when he saw her.

Around her neck she no longer wore the deep red ribbon she usually did. Instead, it was replaced with the embroidered cloth he gave her and he found himself flushing. She watched him without a look of anything but concern. He slowly got up and went to her, a bit speechless as he did.

“Good Hunter,” she greeted. “Are you hurt?”

He said nothing. Instead he just stared at her, at the cloth around her neck, at her pale yet kind eyes. She tilted her head.

“Are you in need of care?”

He said nothing. In fact, he couldn't for a moment. His mind was utterly blank, just on the gift he had given her and how she had put it on once he had left. It made his throat grow a bit dry but he cleared it, bringing himself back. He shook his head.

"I'm fine," he muttered, flushing a bit. She seemed to relax but that could have just been an illusion in his head.

"That is good," she said. "Do you have anything you desire?"

He went red as the moon at her words and it took him a moment to realize what she meant. Her hands were out, her eyes on him and she was waiting for his hand which he let her take. Whatever Blood Echoes he had left, she could have and she knelt before him, drawing them from him to give back strength. When she was done, she continued to kneel and hold his hand making him pause and she slowly drew a smile on her pale lips.

"Dear Hunter, may you be victorious with each coming battle. May your strikes be true and your strength be greater."

He swallowed as he looked at her and she began to rise, almost letting go of his hand but he stopped her. He held hers for a moment, squeezing her bony fingers and she frowned, her eyes meeting his.

"Thank you," he told her. She almost seemed happy to hear that, her eyes softening and her fingers curling over his before he left her, looking back over his shoulder as he did. He re-entered the Hunt, flexing his hand as he did and as he stood by the lantern, his Messengers rose, holding the flower she had given him delicately, all looking to him as if he was a saint. He turned to them, watching them bob up and down and he knelt to give them a look.

"Keep protecting that," he told them. "It is the most precious thing in this world."

The bobbed up and down more, each trying to delicately hold the flower for his favor and he pointed at them to make them cease their squabbling. They did, each drawing back and the Doll's flower rested with them as healthy as when he was given it. He sighed.

He was going to continue to be distracted, that much he needed to accept. He cared for the Doll. He wanted her happy. And her fingers closing over his own gave him hope, his heart beating harder. She prayed for him to be victorious, so that was what he was going to be. The next time he would see her, he would have more beasts under his belt and more Blood Echoes to give her. But when she took his hand he might not take it back just yet. Just to see if she closed her fingers around his again. To test if she maybe felt the same way he did.

He pulled out his axe, snapping it out into the long blade he preferred to have it as. Yes, he would continue his trek and he would be successful for her. After all, why fight his distraction? He had a job to do but surely he could do them both at the same time.

He left with his Messengers watching, the Doll's flower still being cradled gently by them. The red moon was descending and the beasts were turning insane but he didn't waver this time. His axe swung true and his strength was better. By the end of the night, he was determined to make them all see his strength. The strength that was granted to him by the Doll which he held deeply in his heart like the lanterns that warmed Yharnam to the light.

\--


End file.
